


In Her Absence

by SaffronClover



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Future smut? Maybe???, Inquisitor as a Companion, WIP, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:57:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8025274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaffronClover/pseuds/SaffronClover
Summary: For a long time I have been intrigued at the thought of my main Inquisitor being a companion instead of the hero. I had small scenes and plots in my head but never committed them to writing. That is until after this week when I discovered Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, along with many of her other works.These small pieces are greatly inspired by her, Mr. Darcy, Miss. Bennet, Emma, Elinor, and all the other wonderful characters in her books.





	1. Chapter I

          Life truly has a way to bring unexpected consequences to actions; forgetting your texts before a lesson leads to a lashing from the professor. Messing with manners in front of nobility could result in the scorn of the rest of the court. However, what if they were not of one’s own doing, but instead the fallout of another? Of no doubt infidelity brings out the scorn of a wife, but the one who truly suffers is the child. But what of thousands of peoples made disenfranchised in one night, due to the sick mind of one of their kind?

          That is what Clover thought about every day for a year. At night she would lie her head down to dream, yet her dreams brought her nothing but torturous memories of the last night she had in her Circle. Every morning she woke up surrounded by the dour faces of her companions, knowing their dreams were the same. Most rejoiced the freedom from behind their weary eyes, while some mourned the loss of their safe haven. As for Clover, however still quite aware of the danger she were in, rejoiced quite feverishly in her release from bonds.

          The wilds had been their home ever since the fall of the Circles, since they were ousted from their home in Ostwick. They had lost some at first due to injuries from their escape, a select to abominations, others to sickness. Over time Clover’s small party gathered some here and there, but never had a home. She would say every city and town had thinly veiled aggressions toward them, had they ever attempted to hide it in the first place. Mages were not to be served but to be feared as if each were to burst into demons on the spot. The situation between Mage and Templar was not helped by the Apostate who destroyed the Chantry in Kirkwall years before; no, that was never to be forgotten nor forgiven. 

          Not too long word of peace talk had reached the ears of hundreds of mage camps throughout southern Thedas. Given her nobility status Clover had been urged to go, but as she continuously stated time and time again she knew nothing of politics or high society, so then why should she go? No, her skills as a healer was of better use to the sick and helpless in the free mages camp. 

          It was of good fortune she did not go, seeing as the talks had gone sideways leading to the covenant erupting and causing the death of thousands, mages and templars alike. None was so mourned as the great Divine Justinia herself who had been caught up in the chaos. Speculation poured in from all sides: The Mages blamed the Templars and the Templars blamed the Mages. Some believed it marked the end of times, that the Maker had truly left as had his bride Andraste, as an impassioned follower Clover could not believe it. 

          Word of the dreaded event reached her as soon as refuge was found in Redcliffe. The King of Ferelden had so graciously given them safe haven when they had been spurned from all other places. Word spread like wildfire of the King’s good deed and mages flooded into the land in droves. Not too long after there were whispers of a man touched by the Bride, delivered from the Fade by Andraste herself. This man had been deemed Andraste’s Herald, a title which the clerics were quick to dismiss as blasphemous. They tried to suppress the news, but with rifts to the fade pouring out demons, and rumor of the Herald’s special power over the sealing of such rifts, he brought hope to those afflicted.

          That was where Clover found herself at the present, sitting on the docks overlooking the setting red sun. The cool breeze blew a lock of curly red hair to tickle her face, and she quickly tucked it away behind an ear. She hugged the shawl around her shoulders, unaccustomed to the cooler weather Ferelden had to offer. 

          “Lady Clover!” Sandy steps ran hastily toward her and stopped at her back as they hit the planks. A young village girl stood behind her huffing and puffing for her own breath. “She is ready, you must come quickly.”

          The young mage took a deep breath and stood, taking her staff in hand and tome in another. “Do not worry, the child will not fall out.” 

          Up Clover traveled from the docks, past the stalls where the merchants peddled their wares, and into the town. At the top of a long hill stood a once vacant cottage, now the home of many a mage. The loud screams of pain could be heard for quite the distance, and despite the serene outside inside the cramp and decrepit cottage mayhem ensued. Other mages ran around fixing soaked bandages and filling bowls of water. In the middle of the mess lay a heavily pregnant elf, her hair clung to her sweat laden forehead and face seemed permanently etched in agony. Her hands gripped the sides of the old mattress with white knuckles as if letting go would make her float away. 

          Quickly Clover donned an old, once white apron and quickly began giving orders. She positioned herself at the end of the mattress and gently reached a hand into one of the elf’s. “I am here friend.”

          “Maker, just get it out of me!” She gripped the red-headed mage’s hand tight. “I can bare the pain no longer.”

          “Now now, don’t say anything you want your child to resent you for.” Clover said as she wrenched her hand out of her friends. The old, leather tome she bore she placed beside the bed, and with a wave of her hand and a murmured old elvish word it opened. The corners of the pages turned as if a breeze had its will. Slowly the pages stopped at the right spell, and Clover smiled. Pulling magic from the fade always made her hair stand up on end, but pulled it she did. The ethereal blue spell swirled above the pain-laden elf and rained down. The tension on her face lessened as she let her head fall back on a mountain of straw pillows.

          “You are nearly over the hill, Aditi. All that is left is to push.” She pat her friend on the knee.

* * *

          Nearly over the hill, but how far did they still have to go? Hours passed as Clover coached her friend to push and bear down, to rest and take a breath, then continue to push. The daylight turned to night and the moon was high before the screaming of a babe could be heard.

          Aditi, the exhausted but happy mother held onto her pink, wrinkly child and cood at her. She allowed her finger to tease the  new born’s palm and rejoice in the instinctual grip she had.

          “She favors her father, don’t you think?” Aditi said without taking her eyes off the child.

Clover looked up from folding the cloths she did not use and examined the baby. “Her ears set her apart from him. That is it, but then again all babes look the same to me.”

          “Mmm, begrudge all you like. I think she is lovely.”

          Clover smiled to herself at the happiness of her friend. “Rest is what you need right now. I will stay with you the night should you be in want.”

          “You are a good friend, I thank you.”

          “Yes, well rest now. Thank me later.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clover discusses the future of her friend's baby and an important visitor makes it into Redcliff.

             Day broke when Clover found herself waking from the chair she had dozed off in the night previous. She rubbed her sore neck and straightened her back with a few pops. The town life was in its infancy of the day with only the crow announcing the morning, and from the looks of it the rest of the small cottage had not woken yet. Mages lay on straw, broken mattresses, blankets, and some unlucky the floor.  
             It was at this time she decided fresh air was for the best. Pinning her lace veil to her hair and pocketing her handkerchief she set off down the hill.              Little was happening other than the merchants tending to their stalls and farmers transporting their produce. The town would not become much more crowded than it already was, and through the corner of her lace she spied the reason why.  
             Down the road patrolled mages in regal garb accompanied by their guard: Tevinter mages under the employment of one Magister Gereon Alexius, and now they were all his property. Not but a week ago did Clover and her companions find out Grand Enchanter Fiona, the one who swore protection over them, had decided to sell them out as slaves. Heartbroken and enraged they were, but not much could be done. The Magister had kicked out the Arl of Redcliffe, any Chantry sister, and Tranquil; there was none around who could help them.  
             Clover did not wait long to cross the road and go into the market. Rich smells of fresh food and roasted meat filled the air. She perused the stalls and fiddled with the coins in her pocket while her mouth watered.  
             It was not long before Clover was heading up the hill again with a basket of food. Upon entering the cottage she saw her friend awake, cuddling her sleeping bundle.  
             “She has hardly woken but to eat.”  
             “Birthing is just as tiring for the child as it is for the mother. Soon she will be keeping you up at all manners of night, and neither of you will sleep.” Setting down the basket on a nearby table Clover began to pull out her wares from the market: Fresh bread, cooked chicken, and an apple.  
             “Clove! What is that? You know the Magister has us rationed food.”  
             She scoffed. “Old stale bread and rice is not the right diet for a new mother. Your child needs you to keep up proper nutrition.”  
             Aditi gave a small, bitter laugh and remained uncharacteristically quiet. She traced her finger over the babes forehead, and onto her small nose. Her eyes looked so lovingly, yet painfully sad.  
             With the food set in front of her friend, Clover took hand of the child. Aditi took small, slow, contemplative bites.  
             “I do not want her to be brought up a slave, my people have suffered enough.”  
             Silence hit the room, save for the shuffling of the mages rising for the day.  
             It frightened Clover to be a slave, but none so much as it did Aditi. While Clover was a human and a nobleman’s daughter at that, being an elf in Tevinter was even worse. She was not a second class citizen, nor a being with a mind of her own; she was like furniture: to be used and abused at their own prerogative. If she were broken there were more to take her place while her masters would never mourn her.  
             “I want you to take her away from here.”  
             Clover, unphased, did not look up. “And what pray tell would I do with her?”  
             “I do not know nor do I care, as long as she is far away from any magisters, slavers, or anything Tevinter. I am not joking!”  
             This time the young red head looked up at her friend. “You’re not, I can see that.” She sighed, “I can not take her from her mother. You would need to come too.”  
             “Clover I am still too fragile to make any long trips. You know I would not last on the road.”  
             “Stop speaking like that. I will be here to watch over you two, I promised.”  
             “Stop being so damned naive. The Imperium is a large nation and the Magister has acquired too many mages for us not to be separated. With her being so young… there is no telling what will happen. I can’t bare to be pulled away from her unless I know she is with someone safe, and with you she will come to no harm.”  
             Clover gently put the wrapped baby on the mattress next to her mother and stood. “I think I may need to take a turn around town.”  
             Taking leave of the hovel she quickly spirited away down the dirt path into the now busy town. Her friend must have been mistaken to think she could ever take care of a child, let alone a new bairn. Sure she knew how to bring one into the world, but to feed, change, clothe, and keep it warm? Maker forgive her should she ever be bred.  
             Her walk soon brought her by the front gate of the village. There stood at the ready two fully dressed Tevinter guards, Templars if she was not mistaken. It was not until recent that she found out Templars had their own order in that ancient land, but were used by the mages, not against them.  
             “Miss, you can not go any further.”  
             “Pardon?”  
             “You are a mage, are you not?” He said in a strong Tevine accent.  
             “You are correct.”  
             “Then you are now property of the Magister Alexius. Passage beyond this point is forbidden.”  
             Being told not to go certain places was not new to her, but still Clover found herself quite nonplussed.  
             “I do not understand. I just require some herbs from the apothecary in the Crossroads.”  
             “Sorry, ma’am, orders are orders. Now if you please turn around and make your way back to the village.”  
             Arguing with these two would serve no purpose other than to aggravate them. They were of Tevinter, but they were still Templars and she held a steep disadvantage to them. Quickly she backed up and retraced her steps to the town centre.  
I’m not going through the front gate. Clover thought.  
             The morning soon turned into afternoon and she was no closer to getting out than she was a few hours ago, yet people continued to do their business in the market. Fishmongers sold their daily catch, the blacksmith haggled with prices of horse shoes, and whores winked and whistled at passers byes.  
             “...aye, but did you see him? The Herald?”  
             “No, t’wasn’t able to with the crowd around he.”  
             Clover’s attention perked from her thoughts and she listened intently at the gossiping women.  
             “Oh get on. Were I there I’d half a mind to steal at least a bit o’ a glance.”  
             “Mm, well next time you can push through. I ain’t getting involved in no riot.”  
             “Maybe he would take those damned demon summoners away and we can finally ‘ave our town and Arl back.”  
             The Herald of Andraste, here? Maybe he had heard the trouble brewing with the mages and wanted to treat. Or maybe this was a blessing by the Maker to spirit her away from this mess.  
             “Where did you see the Herald?”  
             Both women were taken aback.  
             “Oy, quit brown-nosing.”  
             “I ask again, where did you see him?” Clover repeated with an annoyed tone.  
             A look was exchanged between the two village women.  
             “Over at the inn, where the rest of those rotten ‘vints be hiding.”  
             Without missing a beat Clover picked up her skirts and made a beeline for the inn. There was no crowd when she arrived, no onlookers or zealous followers. It were as if a normal day proceeed her. Inside she looked, but the only sight to beheld was the normal rabble that attended this establishment.  
             Soon Clover found herself kicking loose rocks in a frustrated manner down the road. Her forehead ached and she could feel the frown lines creasing her face. Maybe they were mistaken, and the Herald was nowhere to be seen.  
             “Aye, must be it.” She grumbled to herself. The Herald was a mage afterall, and the normal folks of Redcliffe could not tell the difference between one mage or the other.  
             At that very moment Clover saw out of the corner of her eye a person dressed in garb she had never seen before. A sort of armor neither Tevinter nor of the towns guard. The emblem on their chest was one she had never seen before either: An eye in the middle of a Sunburst, and sword penetrating down the middle.  
             She watched the soldier run down the path from the long abandoned Chantry, and into town.  
             “...Well I do not think we can trust him.”  
             “For once I agree with the Seeker.”  
             Voices from the Chantry caught the Mage’s attention. There emerging from the entrance was a small party of four: A human woman, male Dwarf, and two male Elves. Clover stood back under the shade of a tree as she watched them stroll down the path.  
             “They wanted to help by warning us; do not disregard them so easily.” Commented the bald elf. At his back was strapped a mage’s staff, but she had not noticed him among the others before, and neither the other elf companion.  
             “What do you think, Herald?” Spoke up the woman at his side.  
             “Mm, well he did help banish the demons, so that is as much a consolation as anything. Still we must discuss this more back at Skyhold.” Replied the second mage.  
             Clover’s eyes went wide when she realized the gossiping women in the village were not lying. She pulled the hood over her head and trailed quite a bit behind the party, just to be sure. For a while she kept a safe distance as they discussed and perused the market. Clover was never good at being a sneak, and it proved obvious. Still pretended to be interested in either the road, a nearby tree, or a cloud in the sky any time someone looked her way. Every once in awhile she noticed the dwarf looking over his shoulder and toward her way, even making eye contact a time, but still she played the part of an oblivious townsfolk.  
             Clover stole glances at the party as often as she could. The female of the group talked very little, instead let her expressions speak for her. Whatever their conversation was it did not please her. The taller elf, the one without hair, stood grim faced and unlike the woman gave no indication of happiness nor displeasure. The other elf, the one which had previously been called Herald, was the one who talked the most among them, mostly to his dwarf companion with the odd contraption slung over his shoulder.  
             As she examined the Herald and his traveling companions Clover had not noticed the dwarf too watching her. He waved a friendly come-hither hand and she felt her cheeks redden. She hesitated as she noticed the silent woman looking up at what the dwarf was waving over.  
             “Hey!” She called out in a deep voice.  
             The young mage nearly jumped out of her skin and felt the blood rush from her face. The dwarf urged her again, and now the whole party was staring; Clover had been noticed and running the other direction was not an option. Her heart began beating out of her chest when she approached the group. Her hood was still up and her cloak guarded her as if it were armor.  
             “Aw, Seeker, you nearly scared the poor thing to death.” The dwarf teased. The woman gave no reply as she crossed her arms and grunted.  
             “Pardon the manners of my associate, she is not used to dealing with company when they are not brandishing a sword. I am Varric Tethras, and I couldn’t help but notice you have been following us for quite a while. Usually people talk to us like we owe them money.”  
             Clover licked her lips with an anxiously dry tongue.  
             “I apologize. Rumor of the Herald’s arrival had spread and I needed to see if was true.”  
             “I see my title precedes me. I can no longer hide among the crowd.” Said the smaller elf in a thick, melodic Dalish accent.  
             He was short, his hair long and a sandy yellow. His amber eyes seemed to express laughter and life, and his face made him very favorable.  
             “You are the Herald of Andraste? The one who was saved by the Bride herself, and the sealer of rifts?”  
             “That is what they keep telling me.” He said with a shrug.  
             To everyone’s surprise the tall mage woman fell to the floor in worship. Her fingers lightly grasped at the hems of the Herald’s robes as her face laid to the ground.  
             “Please Herald, Bless this follower for she wishes to serve you.”  
             “I don’t think this will ever get old.” He said with a laugh. “Please, stand.” The Herald reached down and took her by the hand to help her up. “What is your name?”  
             “Clover. Clover Trevelyan from the Ostwick circle.”  
             So you are a mage? Are you gathered with the others here?”  
             “Yes, my speciality is in healing magic, so I thought it beneficial to the others to be around during our travels.”  
             “And you know about Fiona’s agreement with Alexius?” Commented the previously silent woman. She had a thick accent, somewhere she could not place, and stood just a hair shorter than Clover.”  
             “Regrettably I do. We are to be sent off to Tevinter as slaves.” She said with sadness.  
             “Mmm…” The Herald said with some thought. He looked round to his companions. “I would love to take you. Creators know we need every man we can take… but technically you are property of the Magister now. Taking you or any mage with me would be near impossible without insinuating insult.”  
             “Oh.” Clover could feel her stomach turn and the butterflies of excitement disappear.  
             “We came to Redcliff to conduct business with the mages on the Inquisition’s behalf, but some things have come up. We will return as soon as we can after we get things settled, and maybe then you can help. Until then there is nothing we can do. I’m sorry.”  
All Clover could do was bob her head. With that the party continued along the path to finish their business. When she looked up she saw not the whole group had left; the dwarf named Varric was still standing in front of her.”  
             “Look, I hate Tevinter slavers as much as the next guy. I have friends back home who really would want to be here just to wreck havoc, and I have enough reason to spite this asshole as much as the next. That being said….” He switched his gaze past her. “...it would be a damn shame if you found yourself able to get out of here and up into Haven.” He winked at her and turned, trotting to join back up to his group.


	3. Chapter 3

        “Blighted walls.” Clover cursed under her breath. She had spent the good rest of her afternoon trailing the walls of Redcliffe village, but had yet to find any significant hole or avenue she could escape from. This should come as no surprise, since the whole place had been rebuilt from ruin just ten years prior; now twelve foot brick wall covered in ivy laid out as far as the eye could see.

        The sun was setting, and the emptiness in her stomach expanded; she had been so busy the idea of eating had completely escaped her mind. In defeat she picked up her skirt and with the sun at her back trekked to the hovel she called home.

        Aditi was the first to greet her as Clover entered the shack. For the first time in days she was on her feet, walking circles around the home and holding her crying bundle. 

        “Aditi! You need to be in bed.”

        “I am fine, do not worry. My legs needed relief and I am sure I have sores on my butt from that mattress. Besides, she likes it when I walk.” She said, lifting the baby to her shoulder.

        “I met the Herald of Andraste today.” Clover said, not trying to hide the smile on her face. 

        “Oh really? And what was the Herald doing in Redcliffe?”

        “Not entirely sure, but I think his business had something to do with us; the mages.”

        “What was he like?”

        “Short, for one: He is Dalish, and a mage.”

        “Another elf to bring greatness to our people.” Her friend said to her baby with a smile. “Just like the Hero of Ferelden, just like Garahel of the Third Blight. Our people are destined for greatness.” She then turned her attention to Clover. “What was his name.”

        “Ah, I hate to say I did not catch it. He had his guard around him and it was all very quick. I think I was invited to join.”

        “Clove! You must!”

        “There is no way to get out.” Clover said crestfallen. “I tried to leave through the front gates however they are strongly guarded. I can not swim, and the walls are too thick and too tall for me to go over or through; my friend I am out of ideas.”

        “No, please, you can not give up.” Aditi pleaded as she laid down back on the mattress. She held the now sleeping bundle in her lap and gave a sad frown. “If your father were alive, I could save you. I could give you everything.”

* * *

        The sun set and it rose again, and Clover lay there with sleep evading her. Tired to the bone she was, the hunger pangs still hit yet she could not eat.

How was she to escape? She had not coin enough to bribe the guards, even then they would not betray their master. The walls were too tall to climb, and she could easily blast through, however the magister would be immediately suspicious and they would track her down all too easily. Clover was taken too young to the Circle and never knew how to swim, so there would be no way to cross the lake. Even if she did there would be no way to harbor the baby safely across. The Arl had been kicked out by the Magister, or else she could appeal to his sympathies.

        Tales of what magisters do with babies, especially elvan ones, were the ghost stories told from one mage to another. Every one chilled her to the bone, something she did not want to have live out in Aditi’s baby. Her friend was right though, whatever the Tevinter Magister had in store for them would not allow the baby to be alive. Blood magic was to be her fate, or if she was lucky slave trade. Even then there was no promise that the buyer wouldn’t use her for their own nefarious reasons. 

        The dark thoughts kept her awake even when everyone around her was sound asleep. “I need to pray…” Clover mumbled under her breath, throwing off the threadbare blanket. This what the first time Clover had dared to venture out at night, and everything was eerily quiet. Was this because of the time, or because of the presence of the Imperium? The darkness was only cut by the fire lit lamps dotting the main path she walked, the small pitter of her shoes the only sound she heard; not even the crickets came out to sing their nightly song.

        As she approached the giant wooden doors of the chantry she saw the outside candles stood flameless; the chantry had been emptied as all the sisters were escorted out by the Tevinter men. Only one sister dared to stay, reciting the Chant of Light and inciting the vexation of the town’s guests. Other than her no one was left to attend the Chantry, which also meant it was a perfect target for looters. On the doorstep sat broken chains which were once around the door handles, barring anyone from entering. She nudged the chains examining them, noticing melted metal:no doubt the work of a mage. 

        It took effort to open the giant oak doors, and they did so with an echoing creek. A cold darkness greeted her, and she hugged the cowl around her shoulders tighter. With one arm extending her staff Clover illuminated the empty Chantry with a dull, purple light. She saw the pews all in disarray, pages from books scattered everywhere, tables which once held candles overturned, and where drapes used to hang only cold wall now stood. The altar stayed intact, though, as the wooden bust of Andraste would not catch such a fair price as a gilded one would. 

        Clover approached the front altar where a Revered Mother would stand, giving the Chant of Light and blessings to patrons. Going to her knees Clover pulled out a prayer cloth from her pocket. It had a worn, off white color to it with a blazing red sunburst emblem on it. She clasped it between her fingers and bent her head down in prayer. “ _ Maker, Andraste, please hear my prayer. Bless this wretched child of yours and give us an escape.”  _ Silence greeted her, much like every prayer she prayed hoping it would make it to the ear of Andraste. Over and over again Clover prayed, hours passed with silence. Her knees ached and her feet fell asleep, but still she sat there eyes closed and hands clasped. 

        What was she to do? There was no escape, no way to get out. If anything this was a sign of a desperate woman.

        Hours had passed and nothing had been gained but bruised knees and sweaty hands. Finally shifting to the side Clover sat against the altar and rubbed the feeling back into her legs. They tingled fiercely as the blood resumed its proper circulation. Sunbeams began peeking through a dusty stain glass window marking a new day, yet she was no closer to finding an answer.

        Soon the sun begun outshining the purple crystal at the top of her staff and she could see the Chantry more clearly. It was modest in size and hardly decorated, whether that be from the looting or the sisters taking anything of value before they left. The wooden beams which supported the structure had intricate carvings of Andraste on them, wearing her emblazoned crown. Each stain glass window depicted the story of Andraste, from her marriage to Maferath, the meeting of Elvaan leader Shartan, to her execution. Each pane of glass was intricately cut and gave a gentle gleam of light.

        That’s when she looked at the pews which seemed to be pushed out of the way in a hasty manner. She could see books, the pages torn from them scattered around. Candles which were once burning now rolled onto the ground, their once hot wax spilled into cold spots on the carpet. A sack was lazily perched on one of the pews, no doubt forgotten by the person who packed it. 

        Clovers stomach growled at the thought of food being in there. Quickly she crawled up to it and undid the drawstrings, only to find clothing instead of food. It seemed in their hasty retreat a sister had forgotten her extra set of robes. The mage twisted her face in displeasure, but as she was stuffing them back in an idea hit her. Quickly she stood up and looked around the small main room: it had a number of door no doubt leading to the various chambers from sleeping rooms to the larder.

        She checked one by one each room until she came into a large kitchen. It too looked ransacked, a bag of onions picked clean, a sack of apples rolled onto the floor, and the meat hanging rack sat empty. The main larder door was ajar, and as expected it was a bit barren. She shuffled through some of the jars left in it, poking her nose in each one: Pickled vegetables stung her nose in a couple, but she still gathered them onto a central table. A very stale loaf of bread had been left behind by the looters, but it was perfect for her. The last jar Clover checked made her feel as if she struck gold: A half jar of golden honey. 

        The Maker smiled upon her that morning-all her prayers had been answered. She gathered the plundered supplies and stuffed them all in the sack. Quickly she undressed from her mages robes, the same ones she had escaped the Ostwick circle in, and put on the Sister’s robes. They were a size or two loose, the original wearer being a bit bigger than her, but it was not noticable; the robes were meant to be unflattering anyways. Clover tucked away a loose curl into her Mitre and stepped back to look in the mirror-she was completely unrecognizable. With this disguise she could easily walk out of Redcliffe with no questions asked.

        For a moment her attention shifted to her old, discarded robes on the ground. She could put them in the sack, but if she was found with it in her possession she could get in trouble. She took a moment to take the dress in, to face that if she went through with this plan that there would be no going back. Acceptance of life in the Circle as being over was finished, but now she would be away from everyone she knew, the last tie to her old life. However her staff was another story, as that was something she could not leave behind no matter what. It would be one thing to smuggle out a mage’s robes, another a staff. The best Clover could do is wrap it in some fallen drapery and hope somehow no one would ask about it.

        Taking a deep breath it all became internalized, and Clover set out of the Chantry with her things. Already the merchants were setting up their stalls and the smell of fresh morning bread hit the air. Clover’s mouth watered and was quickly reminded she had not eating in close to a day. She ignored the loud protest of her stomach and set her focus on the people around her.

        Clover’s plan was to get the baby and try to walk her way out. She had no idea how to get to Haven, no idea what to do with the child once she got out, but right now it was the only plan she had and it was better than nothing.


End file.
